His Wicked Witch

by Kim Loraine

  "Hey, lady. We're here. You can sit there all you want, but you gotta pay for it." My driver's strong New York accent reminds me I'm not in Montana anymore.

  "Sorry," I mutter, rifling through my purse until I find my wallet. I grab a twenty and hand it to him, but he raises an eyebrow.

  "I'm not a taxi driver. It's fifty from the airport."

  Panic lances my chest. Fifty? I should've just taken a taxi. In a rush of anxiety, I start digging around in my bag, searching for more money. I know I have it, but there's nothing in my wallet.

  "Come on, lady." He's annoyed, and I'm rushing.

  "Hold this," I say, handing him my wallet and searching deeper in the handbag. Then I remember my suitcase in the back. I'd tucked an extra hundred in the secret inside pocket because I don't like to have all my cash in one place. "Can you make change? I have more cash in my bag."

  He nods, and I get out of the car, making my way to the trunk to grab my suitcase. But the driver pulls back into traffic faster than I can holler, "Hey! Wait!"

  I run after him, hoping he'll see me and slow down, but it's no use. He's lost in a sea of cars and busses, and it's all I can do to keep from screaming in frustration. Taking a deep breath, I force myself to calm down. I fight back the hot tears burning my eyes. I will not burst into hysterics on the streets of Manhattan.

  It's not the end of the world. I can call the car company. Tell them what happened. Tell them the guy stole my suitcase. Panic rises again, but I push it down. No. It's going to be fine. I'm sure the guy will return my bag. What I need now is a shower to wash away this day.

  The hotel lobby is bright and clean, with high ceilings and marble floors. Swanky is the word my dad would have used. He was a cowboy, through and through, and he never understood why I wanted to be in the city so badly. It's everything I love. The hum of life, people rushing from place to place, tourists exploring with excited expressions, movies and television shows being filmed. There's always something happening here. Montana is peaceful and slow. Perfect for some—not me. But that doesn't mean I get to stay here. I've got a dying farm waiting for me when I get back. Until then, I'm going to enjoy my time in the city.

  "Welcome to The Stanton Hotel," the concierge says as I approach the desk. "Do you have a reservation?"

  I smile, brushing my hair away from my face. I must look like a hot mess after chasing down the car. "I do. Charity Baker."

  He offers me a patronizing smile and starts typing. "I'll need a photo ID and a credit card."

  My hand goes to my purse immediately, digging through the large bag in search of my wallet. "One second, sorry. I just had it in the car."

  I continue searching. Why do I have such an enormous handbag? Anxiety creeps up my spine when I still haven't found the candy pink Kate Spade wallet I'd bought myself three seasons ago as a graduation gift. I plop my bag on the counter, and the concierge frowns. "It's here somewhere." I laugh nervously and remember my utter stupidity in the car. I handed the guy my wallet. I handed him my wallet and as good as asked him to rob me. I'd been so concerned about my suitcase I forgot he had my wallet in his hand.

  He doesn't look sympathetic. "Miss. I can't check you in without identification and a major credit card."

  Oh, God. I think I'm going to cry. This guy doesn't look like the type who cares. Crying won't help my case. "I…the driver stole my wallet and suitcase. I don't…" My stupid voice wobbles with every word.

  "Charlie, what's all this then?" A deep, masculine voice fills my ears, his posh English accent covering me like a warm blanket.

  "Oh, Mr. Harper. Everything's fine. This young lady doesn't have her ID. I was just explaining that we can't—"

  "What's your name, love?" Mr. Harper asks. He turns his gaze on me, deep blue eyes penetrating the last of my resolve. The man is gorgeous. He's probably in his early thirties, tall, built, with a chiseled jaw that would rival Superman.

  "Wow," I whisper before I can stop myself.

  His eyebrows rise, and a smile spreads his kissable mouth. "Pardon?"

  Pulling it together, I clear my throat. "Charity. My name is Charity Baker, and I've had a reservation for months. My driver took my stuff. God, I was such an idiot to be so trusting. He drove off as soon as I got out."

  "I see." He stares at me, that smile still present, but there's heat in his gaze. "Charlie, please check Miss Baker in. I'll cover her until she's able to retrieve her wallet. Charity, do you have the license plate number of the car? The company name?"

  I frown, trying to recall. "Blue Star Town Cars. That was the name on his dashboard. I don't remember the plate number."

  "We'll find their number."

  To my surprise, Charlie nods and starts typing. In moments, he's handing me my plastic key card and telling me he hopes I enjoy my stay. Relief hits me as soon as I turn away from the desk. "Thank you," I say to my rescuer. "That was really nice of you."

  "My pleasure. There are a few perks to owning a hotel. This is one of them."

  "You're the owner?" My shock is clear in my tone.

  He nods. "Lincoln Harper, but you can call me Linc." He puts his hand on the small of my back, and I nearly melt on the spot. "Now, Miss Baker, allow me to escort you to your room."

  "Oh, I'm sure I can find it on my own." I don't know why I'm protesting. This handsome British guy basically rode in like a knight on a white horse and saved me. He's my prince charming. I should welcome every minute I have with him.

  "Ah, but I think I'd like to get to know you a little. Since I'm letting you stay here on faith." He grins as we step into the elevator. "How long will you be staying with us?"

  "A week. I'm here for a reunion tomorrow. But I'm staying longer so I can spend some time in the city without a bunch of stuff to do."

  His eyes burn into mine. "And you came alone?"

  I shrug and look away. "I used to live here. I'm not afraid of the city." Then I think of the car and my missing bag. "But I guess I'm a little out of practice. I lost my wallet and my suitcase in one fell swoop. It's bad enough I'm going to my sorority reunion without a boyfriend, but I'll have to go dressed in yoga pants and a tank top. All I have is a failing farm in Montana that I don't want and a degree I can't use."

  Stop rambling, I tell myself. I'm going to scare British Superman away. His hand rises, and he brushes a stray tear from my cheek. There's tenderness in his gaze.

  "Charity, I think we can help each other. I have a proposition for you."

  The Virgin’s Fake Fiancé

  Sneak Peek

  The Virgin’s Playboy Prince

  Chapter 1

  Ryder

  “This is your duty to your country. Make the best of it.” I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror and repeat the words again. All my life I’ve known my parents arranged for me to marry Charlotte Montblanc, princess of Lewain, but today is the day my father announces our engagement to the public. I’d come to terms with it long ago. As heir to the throne of Corline, this is simply a political move. Our two countries will be allied by marriage. Trade strengthened, defenses built for both, and a lasting bond built by blood. The only problem? Princess Charlotte is nowhere to be found. She’s jilted me. I shouldn’t be hurt, it’s not a marriage for love, but I’d hoped we’d both grow to love each other as we built our life.

  Instead of the future I’d planned for, I’m heading downstairs to meet my future bride. Charlotte’s little sister, Gemma. The only thing I know about this girl is that she’s barely twenty-one, and the last conversation I had with her was when she was a teen and in braces. She’s too young, too innocent about the world, and not suited to be a future queen.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket, prompting me to tear my focus from what was supposed to be. My sister, Waverly’s name flashes on the screen.

  Are you okay?

  Am I? I don’t think so. Now, instead of marrying a woman I’ve known for years, I’m about to give my grandmother’s engagement ring to a practical stranger.

&nb
sp; A slight knock on the door has me fighting a sigh. “I’ll be there in a moment,” I call.

  “Come on, Ry, let me in. I know you’re just brooding.” My sister’s voice is sweet and teasing. Waverly understands. She’s been there through it all.

  “Go tell Mum I’ll be down in a second. I’m just straightening my tie.”

  “The Montblancs are here. Gemma looks beautiful.”

  Of course she does. The Montblanc women are all lovely. “That doesn’t matter. I’m not doing this to have a pretty bit of arm candy. I need a queen. You know what the doctor’s said. Father has less than a year left. I have to be settled, and this alliance needs to be forged before anyone hears Father is sick.”

  A soft click gives me warning that Waverly has popped the lock on the door, and before I can stop her, she’s right there in front of me. “Don’t be…how you are being. Gemma is sweet, but I don’t think she’s too pleased about this arrangement. If she thinks you don’t care, she might run too.”

  That makes my stomach twist. My reputation won’t recover from another abandonment by a potential bride. “Fine. I’ll be on my best behavior.”

  She sighs and reaches up to fix my tie. “Come on, then. You’re the guest of honor. We can’t keep them waiting any longer.”

  My sister takes my arm and gives me a slight squeeze. I can’t help but smile. “Is that a new tiara?”

  “Don’t change the subject. It’s not every day you get engaged.” She lifts her chin and tugs me toward the stairs. “Now, buck up, Prince Ryder. Your future princess awaits.”

  “If only I actually knew her.”

  She giggles. “You have the rest of your life. Isn’t that how they used to do this sort of thing in the middle ages?”

  “I had hoped we’d grown a small amount as a society since then.”

  “I do need to tell you something about her.”

  “What is it? Please don’t tell me she never grew out of her awkward phase.”

  A soft laugh tells me I’m ridiculous. “She sort of…hates you.”

  “What? Why?”

  Waverly cocks an eyebrow. “You don’t have the best reputation, Ry.” Then she pulls out her phone and swipes her finger across the screen a few times before holding the device out to me. “Playboy Prince Parties All-Night. Prince Ryder’s Summer Fling Tells All. Shall I go on?”

  I wince. “That’s not me, and you know it.”

  “I know it was all Kingston’s doing, but you also know he’s a lord, not a prince. You’ll always make the headlines if you’re there.”

  “So she hates me because of tabloids?”

  “Apparently, when Charlotte left, she cited your unfaithful behavior as the reason. Wrong or not, Gemma blames you.”

  “Well, then, I’ll just have to win her over.”

  As we descend the stairs, the footman scrambles to announce us to the room below. I can’t stop my smirk. Catching them off guard is one of my favorite pastimes.

  “Her Royal Highness, Waverly Antonia Yvette Harrington, Princess of Corline and His Royal Highness, Frederick George Ryder Harrington VI, Prince of Corline.”

  I nearly choke when the crowd parts, and I see her. Gemma has grown into a true beauty. She’s even more stunning than her sister. How had I missed her all this time? Her family stands in the ballroom alongside my parents and my youngest sister Alina. Each of them, save my eighteen-year old sister, hold a glass of champagne in their hands.

  I can’t fight my smile as I approach. Maybe marrying Gemma won’t be as awkward as I thought. There’s no denying my future wife is gorgeous. Her emerald green gown hugs her in all the right places and sets off her copper tresses. But then there’s that perfectly shaped mouth of hers, pressed into a tight line, eyes cast down, and cheeks a soft pink.

  I bow to each of them and offer my show of respect, but I want to look at Gemma.

  “Your Highness,” Gemma’s father says, offering me a smile before pushing his daughter toward me. “Gemma, darling, say hello.”

  Gemma dips into a curtsey. “Your Highness,” she says, disdain in her tone.

  I take her hand. “Come now. Is that any way to greet the man you’re planning to share your life with?”

  She stares me down, daggers in her gaze, but offers a bright smile and turns her cheek for me to kiss. Her skin is soft and warm and smells like roses. Nerves grip me at the thought of her anger, however misplaced. Stepping back, I take an offered glass of champagne and down half of it in one go.

  “Son, now’s as good a time as any.” My father, King of Corline claps me on the shoulder and hands me a velvet box before leaning in and whispering, “Get it done. We need a wedding in the next six months.”

  “I don’t know the girl. Can’t we have at least a few moments to—”

  “We’ve been over this; there is no future with you as king without you toeing the line here. We need you to marry into her family. You’ll ask her, or I will simply make the announcement.” He grips my shoulder hard. “Unless you’d like to see our kingdom at risk because her father decides to join forces with a different nation.”

  No way. I am not sacrificing my country’s security because of my need to have a wife who likes me. “Fine.” I grab the ring and take a deep breath. Making my way back to Gemma, I drop to one knee and ignore the nervous churning in my gut. The crowd goes absolutely silent and my bride-to-be stares wide-eyed.“My darling, Gemma. Will you do me the honor of joining me in service to king and country as my wife?” Romantic? No. But that’s not what this is about.

  Her mother gasps as I pull out the five-carat, canary diamond ring and slide it onto Gemma’s finger.

  Gemma cuts a glance at her mother, who nods emphatically. Then she pulls her hand from mine. “I will.”

  “Lovely,” my mother says, taking a sip of her champagne. “We’ll release an official announcement in the morning. Gemma, darling, best get your engagement party gown choices to me by Friday at the latest. I’ll need to approve before you appear in any official photos.”

  I doubt my mother sees it, but a flicker of worry lights in Gemma’s eyes. “Yes, ma’am,” she replies. In all honesty, new fiancée looks a little green.

  “Excuse us, please. I need a few moments to celebrate with my bride-to-be.” I hold out my hand, and Gemma fits hers into mine. “Shall we?” I ask, pulling her away from the audience.

  I don’t stop until the two of us are outside, standing in the garden bathed in moonlight. There’s a bone deep chill in the air, and I immediately realize my mistake. Gemma shivers in her strapless silk. “Here,” I say, shrugging out of my tuxedo jacket and draping it over her shoulders.

  “Thank you.”

  “There’s no reason you should freeze.”

  She cocks an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t think you’d care. You certainly didn’t show my sister any respect.”

  “What? I think you’ve got this wrong. Charlotte left me, remember? Why are you painting me as the bad guy here?”

  “If the shoe fits.”

  “And you know everything about me?

  “I know what my sister has told me. The things your conquests call you behind your back.”

  I laugh. “Oh, I’m sure I’ve heard it all.”

  “Five-inch Freddy.”

  That stops my laughter. “What?”

  She shrugs. “I’m only repeating what you already know, aren’t I?”

  “Where did you hear that?” I swear, I’ll kill whoever has been spreading that moniker. “It’s completely untrue.”

  “Hmm, you seem very determined to make that clear. You know what they say about protesting too much.”

  “I do not have a small—”

  “I don’t want to know.” She tuts and walks away, pulling the jacket tighter across her body.

  I chase after her, not wanting to let her get the last word. “Well, that’s going to be pretty damned hard considering you’re about to be my wife.”

  Eyebrow cocked, she turns on me. “No. I�
�ll marry you, but it’ll be for show only. You won’t have my body, or my heart.”

  “And what if I want you to give me more than a facade? What if I need an heir?”

  She settles on the bench near the mouth of the rose garden. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Although, I’m sure you’ve got a few bastards running around by now. Arranged marriages only end with love in romance novels, your Highness.”

  “So, it will all be an act?”

  “Yes. I’ll never love you, so don’t plan on that, and I doubt you’re capable of loving one woman anyway.”

  “Fine, but my mother will expect more effort on our part. We’ll have to put on a show for the paparazzi and for those at court.”

  She tosses back her head and laughs, the rich sound sending a rush of something I’d never expected to feel straight through me. “I think you put on enough of a show already, don’t you? What was it last week? A suspected harem, I believe.”

  My chest burns. I’d seen that headline too. Damn Kingston and his parties, but it’s hopeless to try and convince her I wasn’t involved in any of that debauchery. “Fine, let’s go prove how deliriously in love we are.”

  “I hope you’re a good liar.”

  The Virgin’s Playboy Prince

  Sneak Peek

  His Whiskey Sour

  Did you miss The Cocktail Girls series?

  Here’s a sample of His Whiskey Sour, a sexy rock star romance.

  Chapter 1

  Easton

  "This is a terrible idea," I say into my phone as my driver pulls up to The Millennium Hotel.

  The lights of the Vegas Strip permeate the car through windows tinted so dark they're black. I need quiet and calm, not slot machines and showgirls. How the hell my manager expects me to write another number one record while I'm surrounded by the non-stop party life, I'll never know. The rest of my band is here already. They caught an earlier flight, but I stayed back, hoping for a few more days at home.